If Smiles Arent Enough, I'll Down Pills for Ya Too
by Emilie Alicia Wolfe
Summary: A story about loss, survival, and love. Party Poison is hell-bent on finding both his brother and wife, who got out alive after their first gang of Killjoys was massacred in a raid by Korse, also taking the life of his six-year-old. Now it's personal...
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I own nothing, affiliate with My Chemical Romance or anyone that works, ever worked or is involved with Gerard, Mikey, Ray, or Frank. The order in which I wrote the words pertains to me and only me. If I had the chance to chill with these guys is Desolate Cali 2019, I wouldn't be writing about it; I would instead, totally rock it like Grace Jeanette and be their fifth Killjoy ;) This is my first story here, and I see that there isn't any MCR fics, thought I would be cool to be the unofficial first :) (maybe there are other out there; that would be super sweet.)

Comment. Criticize. Love.

...

He never would have imagined his life like this: crouched behind a rock, the burning, hot, unforgiving sun beating down on his neck; surrounded by nothing by desert, dirt, and cacti. Blinking to regain his focus, he leaned up against the boulder, his back glued to it, his ray gun clenched in his hand; he would be ready for any sudden surprise attack. He peered over it and saw that the coast was clear, so he made a run for it, dashing over the hood of the car and into the drive's seat, the key in the ignition, waiting to be turned. Hopefully this band of Dracs weren't as smart as to slash his tires out. When they began to excelarate him forward, he hollered out in joy.

The tires revved out of the Draculoids' path, running over a few of the dead ones scattered over the field of dust and sand. What a degrading way to die, Party Poison though as he finally lowered his bandanna, eyes fierce on the desert road in front of him. This time, nothing was going to stop him.

But they deserved it, he added. They could have sided against BLI and he would have been one stronger. They could have fought for the greater good—instead of mass murdering innocents that dared to rebel against the natural movement of Korse's plan for total and completle word domination. He lamented the huge loss in the bloody confrontation that had gone on earlier that day; a surprise attack on the assumed sleeping Draculoids that didn't go quite as planned.

What went according to plan now a day? Every single movement he made, every move the Killjoys made—as a whole unit—was micro-managed, dissected—and from that information, Korse sent his minions to seize and attack. Never had that bastard had the guts to face them all by himself; instead, he hid in his big mansion in the middle of Main Street, located in Newark, NJ. Even out in the open, nobody dared confront him, or else they'd end up with a hole in their head.

This time, Party Poison was sure someone had snitched. He felt as betrayed as Jesus would have been when Judah place that final kiss of death on his cheek. Gritting his teeth, he pushed his foot deeper into the petal and gripped the steering wheel till flesh was white against bone. He cursed the name of whoever screwed this mission up. But he had to stop wondering; he was all alone now. The snitch and the rest of the remaining Killjoys were dead. But that didn't make him feel any more at ease. Of course he now had to face being completely alone, but that he could do with. The only thing that mattered now was that his own selfish reasons had to take the back-burner for a bit longer. They were the same that had taken over since banding together with the out-skirted misfits he would find to create what the S/C/A/R/E/C/RO/W now sought after with blind rage—The Killjoys.

He was hell-bent on finding his brother and wife—alive. And he was going to make sure that happened, even if he was the lamb that had to be sacrificed in the process.  
>For now, he fought against the sinking sun. Where would he find refuge tonight, when the Killjoys' headquarter was plundered by the Draculoids? He was not going to put himself in a situation where the only way out was a blast to the head.<p>

-  
>He once again found shelter in his car. He was forced to sleep in that back seat, which beat the hell out of sleeping next to a fire, naked to any sudden assault, no matter how many ray guns he had with him. The night had been bitter and mean to him, having the sun a blessing from above. It was also his relentless alarm clock, waking him every morning; he silently thanked whatever entity gave him the strength and luck to survive one more day, as the others around him dropped like flies. At this time, maybe a few years ago, he would be waking up the cry of Bandit—calling on mommy and daddy to hurry the hell up and get her feed and changed. But if he thought back and got drunk on the memory of the emotions, he would have been dead a long time ago.<p>

Rubbing out the kink in his neck, he surveyed his surroundings, looking out for any unexpected strangers surrounding the car. Clear and safe, he reached forward into the front cavity and turned the car to idle, giving it enough juice to turn the radio on to Dr. DeathDefying's channel. He was probably already on.

"Good morning, methane-breathers. Glad to see that you have found an escape from the perils of the dark and found a little corner of light to listen up. From the Zone, we got reports that last night we had a few casualties, out on the corner of grain and sand." Party Poison chuckled at his comment. This man always seemed to find the speck of humor in the hellish reality that was now Battery City, Cali, 2019. "But don't get your gas-masks in a bunch, tumbleweeds. We know that even if we are the terrible aftermath, we have to know that the future is bullet proof—we still gotta hold hope that those relentless Killjoys will keep going, no matter how many limbs they've lost. They've fallen in numbers, gathered and always come back that much stronger. Everyday, we are finding more and more survivors from the recent city raids, and everyday more and more rock n' rollers gang up to create another sturdy branch of Killjoys. They'll never take us alive. Now, I'll leave you all with this lovely note: If you're alone and your heart is still beating, join the fight where the sun don't shine too bright and where even the pills can't stop us. This is the Doc signing off. Here's Show-Pony with some noise." Oldies began to play, heavy with white noise.

Sighing, he rubbed at the kink again. He knew Dr. D was referring to the hideout—The Killjoy's headquarters that was probably gutted from the inside out. His stomach grumbled angrily at him, demanding him to shove something edible down his throat to digest. Back at the diner—which doubled as the Killjoy's hideout—food was abundant. As much as he hated the idea, he jumped into the front seat, pulled his bandanna up, slide on his shades and was off to the only place he would maybe find a safe haven for a couple of hours, at the very least.

-  
>Pulling up to the diner, the dust that had been lifted by his tires fogged up his vision, the cloud of smoke obstructing the entrance. The door had been ripped off its hinges and now laid on the floor, accidentally stepping over it as he went inside. In defense, he placed his hand over the magazine of his gun, which was still in its holster. He flipped back the top for easier access. Slowly, he advanced through the destroyed diner. The floor was littered with everything that once had a solid, neat place on the shelves stacked against the walls on the left side of the room, behind the counter, or on the tables. Towering window were now big gaping holes, the glass scattered on the tables facing them. Checking that the coast was clear, he proceeded to the back kitchen, a low clinking sound caught his ear, coming from the pantry.<p>

A hidden enemy, his instincts advised. Swiftly removing his gun from the holster, he held it in front of him at arms length. Also removing his shades, he turned the corner into the pantry to find a young man coiled up in the corner with three empty cans lying around him; the guy was working on the fourth one. He was immediately alarmed at Party Poison's sudden appearance, pulling out his own ray gun and standing up in defense.

He didn't look like a BLI follower, with his ratty, dirty yellow ¾-sleeve shirt, his forest green vest, and what looked like once-black-now-dust-gray jeans. But any stranger was lethal, Party Poison had said to himself on various occasions. Trust was like a death-wish around here.

"Who the fuck are you?" Party Poison said through his raised bandanna. His eyes glimmered through Party Poison's memory; remembering this stranger. In the split second that he studied him, no memory came to him.

"I should be asking the same question," the stranger said, motioning towards Party Poison's ray gun pointed directly at his heart.

"I'm not telling you jack until you tell me who you are. This is my territory. Do you work for Korse? And if you lie to me, asshole, I'll rip you a new one." The stranger wiped his mouth with the back of his hand—gun pointed still pointed at Party—and shook his head feverishly.

"Fuck no, man. He'd be dead if he was the one standing in front of me. Just lower your gun."

"Don't tell me what to do! Who the hell are you?"

"I'm Fun Ghoul. If you think I'm gonna tell you my real name, you got something else coming."

"Are you a survivor of the recent city raids?" Party asked, his own still pointed toward Fun Ghoul. He threw his hands up in surrender. "Kinda, now could you just lower your damn gun? I haven't had a bite to eat in four days and I heard what the guy on the radio said about this place. I was camped out a few miles south from here. Got attacked by a couple of Dracs and after scavenging alone for so long, a roof over my head sounded pretty luxurious." Party lowered his weapon and pulled down his bandanna.

"I'm Party Poison, but you can calls me Gee. I was the commander-in-chief before this place got messed up last night by a raid. There wouldn't have been one and I wouldn't have lost my army if it wasn't for that snitch. You aren't one of those now, are you?"

"I'm on my own because I don't have anyone to trust in this shit of a town."

"Good, you're one with no luggage. This is just the first floor of the entire headquarters. Now that Dr. D put the word out for this place, I gotta set up for more people to come." Fun Ghoul stayed silent as he followed Party Poison out of the pantry and into the disastrous front room. "You can stay here for as long as you need too and as long as you commit to being at the disposal of the Killjoys' army that we have to build up—again. It might take more time this time—since this is the second time this happens," he said as he took a ring of keys out from his pocket, selecting the only red one. He pulled the heavy door open, almost letting it smack against Fun Ghoul. As the stairs led lower into the ground, Fun Ghoul just followed and listened the faint lilts of Gee's voice as he explained more on how the Killjoy organization worked.

He was an odd fella, Fun Ghoul determined. The guy had tight gray jeans, a tight 'Dead Pegasus' wind breaker that seemed to fit too snug for his broad shoulders, and red hair—vibrant red hair. What purpose did the bandanna and shades serve when his cherry red hair betrayed him, making him target enough to knock his head off his shoulders?

He probably had no heartbeat. His veins were probably hard and icy. He held no emotion in his face, or eyes; only his lips held the tension. Something told him that this man was not like this before; this endless war of survival had made him miserable, bitter and robotic. And the blank look in those eyes sealed the deal on Fun Ghoul's speculation: he was a robot that was programmed to save other Killjoys. This one didn't die easily.

He had heard about the Killjoys before and decided to join some self-proclaiming idiots that called themselves Killjoys who thought they were as bad-ass to survive alone. Fun was naive enough to go along with it, but it resulted in his down fall. Now here he was, following some crazy human-robot thing deeper and deeper into some caves, where he could probably be massacred and no one would know it, no matter how loud he screamed. His stomach quivered and decided to tune back to Party's voice before he let his nerves overtake him.

"—there was always much to do around here when we had a full house. Everyone usually pitched in and helped with the up-keep, hunting and all that survival stuff. The first time we had this organization up and running, it was me, my brother, wife, child, and a few other couples with their children. The stronger, healthy men and women always went out to hunt and once, we raided a Drac base-camp. We took out a good amount of Draculoids on our first raid and we got cocky. We thought that nothing could touch us. It went so smoothly and our planning was flawless, what could possibly hurt us?

"A few weeks later, they found our hideout and, on an outing we usually regularly made to scavenge for food, they raided the caves and killed most of the children and people that were left behind." He heard no emotions behind Gee's voice as he continued down the narrow path of rock that branched off to many dark hallways. But if only he was in his mind—only then would he see every bloody detail that was involved.

"Where's your family now?" Curiously tickled his throat before he could stop his words from coming out.

"They killed my six-year-old. My brother saved my wife from getting killed in the exchange. I know they got away because I got a letter not too long ago from Mi—" he caught himself" my brother, telling me that he was okay; that he couldn't disclose their whereabouts, but that him and my wife were okay—physically that is. My wife loved that child."

"Didn't you, Gee?" Party Poison stopped dead in his tracks, catching Fun Ghoul off-guard and causing him to slam into Party. Regaining his footing, he looked up to see his poker face, his lips stretched out into a thin, livid, tense line.

"Feelings are what got all the others killed last night. They didn't see to save their own skin before saving anyone else's. You better learn that in your time here, Fun Ghoul. If we were on the line, wouldn't you save your own ass before mine?" He didn't let him answer, but took his silence as a yes. "Exactly. Now that you ate, you can sleep in one of the rooms." He jammed his thumb towards the many doors trailing behind him. "I'll later wake you up for the mid-day report that is screened on the radio. Dinner is when the sun sets and you better be in bed by the moonlight because we have to wake up to look for survivors tomorrow. Good night, Frank." Party Poison said, turning and disappearing into the black hole that was the hallway. Frank stood frozen in the doorway, his hand icy cold and tightened around the knob.

How the hell did he know his name?


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I own nothing, affiliate with My Chemical Romance or anyone that works, ever worked or is involved with Gerard, Mikey, Ray, or Frank. The order in which I wrote the words pertains to me and only me. If I had the chance to chill with these guys is Desolate Cali 2019, I wouldn't be writing about it; I would instead, totally rock it like Grace Jeanette and be their fifth Killjoy ;) This is my first story here, and I see that there isn't any MCR fics, thought I would be cool to be the unofficial first :) (maybe there are other out there; that would be super sweet.)

Comment. Criticize. Love.

Once on his end of one of the make-shift rooms at the end of the hallway, his stomach protested his decision to turn in for the rest of the day, until the next update from the Doc. Laying face first on his bed, he groaned and pushed up against the sore muscles that screamed in pain as he sat up-right on his bed.

He wasn't the youngster he once was when all this madness started; back then, he was twenty-eight—now he was thirty-three and feeling every one of those years weigh on his poor, beaten body. Last night's sleeping quarters intensified the pain of every kick shove, punch and fall on his muscles. Before, he could take a beating, regain his power in a few hours; now, he felt like an old man, doubled-over as he walked back upstairs to _maybe_ fix the front door and get some grub.

Climbing the last steps and pushing the heavy cast-iron door (before it was just a flimsy metal-screen door), he saw a dark shadow flutter by, too fast for his naked eye to catch who or what it was. Instantly, his body got rid of the pain, and shot a fresh hit of adrenaline in his blood as he whipped out his weapon and stood ready to fire. He glanced over his shoulder once he could no longer feel the door to his back, his heart betraying him, beating too loudly in his ears to hear footsteps or the intruder's breathing. He didn't feel this sudden rush racing through his blood when he was fighting for himself before; that was because before he wasn't in charge of another life.

Frank was down in the caves, fast asleep—a Draculoid could finish him off and put a blast through Frank's head while he was asleep. And he wasn't gonna have that. He was silently betraying what he was going to hammer into Frank's head later.

Changing the pace of his heart, his ears cleared up and he could hear the faint sighing of a human's breath near the last of the row of tables. Pacing himself, he pushed his back until he felt the edge of the table gaze against the palm of his hand and bottom. A quick security glance over his shoulder, he locked on the curly locks of hair that protruded from the end of the rear-facing booth.

"Stop hiding you coward, you're surrounded. Get the out from under there, hands on your head." A squeaky protest followed as a small girl of about ten come out from underneath the table. The shivers and trembles of fear shook her as she tried to keep her hands steady on her head. Party Poison lowered his gun and felt a lump in his throat as he saw the girl's tears get the best of her.

"I'm not going to cry, damn it," she said as she sniffled and wiped her tears away hurryingly with the back of her hand. He said nothing but stared aimlessly as she talked herself out of crying as she sniffled away her tears and tried to put on a brave face. "If you're gonna kill me asshole, do it now. I want to die with honor, under the name of the all-mighty Killjoys." He couldn't take her seriously as she called him an asshole. She looked about the age that Bandit would be if she were alive.

"I'm not gonna kill ya, kid. You're just that—a kid. Are you lost or something?"

"Don't treat me like an idiot—I'm a kid, not stupid. No, I am not lost. I'm here on a mission my daddy sent me on." She lowered her hands and she stuck her nose up in the air defiantly. Her left hand was on her own baby-pink ray gun—just in case this creep was up to any funny business, she could just slap the strap back and kill this mofo.

"And what would that mission be?"

"That's none of your damn business." She folded her hands over her chest.

"Fine, at least tell me who you are. You're on my turf, kid."

"Do you work for Korse?" Damn, he thought to himself, her daddy had train this little solider strong and solid. She was a twenty-five year-old stuck in a ten-year-old's body.

"No," he said as he raised his hands in surrender. "I'm a Killjoy as well. Do _you_ secretly work for BLI?" He knew the answer to that question as she set her teeth, but playing along to humor her didn't hurt a single soul; maybe eased his a bit. This was his first interaction with an innocent soul since he had lost his three years ago.

"Hell no! I was raised with more honor and dignity than that. _Hug_ Better Living Industries, those idiots at S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W, and anyone that follows them."

"Hug?" He cocked his eyebrow. She blushed and looked away.

"I get grounded a lot because I cuss around my dad. So instead of saying the F-word, I say 'hug.' I haven't figured out any replacements for the other cuss words, so I try not to cuss in front of daddy." Replacing his gun back to its rightful place on his right thigh, he took a step closer; she took one back.

"I'm Party Poison. I'm commander-in-chief—or at least was—of this branch of Killjoys." He extended his hand. She eyed his hand as her hand idly laid on the magazine of her gun. After a few seconds of gauging his presence, she took it.

"I decided not to have a silly nickname like everyone else. My mom named me Grace Jeanette and Jet Star is my dad."

"I've heard of your dad—"_It looks like Jet Star and the Kobra Kid had a clap with an exterminator that went all Costa Rica_—"Is he okay?"

"My daddy and Kobra kid—two of the main leaders of our branch of Killjoys—made it seem like they got kill off, therefore making them think that our branch was disbanding and we fell off the S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W's radar. I think that's why they've been targeting you guys. I overheard my daddy say that a few days ago."

"An eavesdropper and a potty mouth," he teased. She huffed.

"Well," she took her defiant tone from before. "I'm old enough to know the Killjoys' top secret business. I turned ten last month. They also did trust me to go on a solo mission."

"Probably because you're small enough to not get noticed under the surveillance that BLI has around," he murmured to himself.

"What?" she asked

"Nothing. So now that we're more acquainted with each other, why don't you tell me why you traveled all the way out here all by yourself?"

"I was sent here by Jet Star and Kobra Kid to inform any surviving Killjoys—" she cut herself off and changed her train of thought. "How many of you are left?"

"Me and this other guy I found eating my food earlier."

"Is he a fellow Killjoy?"

"He is as of this morning."

"How do you know he could be trusted?" Being interrogated by a ten-year-old girl wasn't a pleasant experience, especially not very nice to his ego.

"Maybe he shouldn't but I guess after last night, the guy looked as frightened and alone as I was."

"Further background information will be taken on him, and you, once we get back to camp. If we leave now, we could get there by tomorrow, a bit before—"

"Is there a second piece to this, Grace?"

"Damnit—I mean Dang it, yeah. Jet Star and Kobra Kid wish to bring any of the surviving Killjoys to our base camp to unite in the battle against BLI." Better than being stranded out here with a stranger, he thought to himself.

"Sounds good but no one is going anywhere after the sunlight dies. You're staying put here until the sun shines tomorrow morning. We'll take as much food that fits in the Trans Am with room for the three of us. For now, I want to get some food cooking and we can listen to Dr D's mid-afternoon update. How does that sound?"

She adjusted the strap of the satchel she carried. "Sounds good to me. Ah, being a hero and kicking some ass sure makes me I help?"

A smile actually split Party Poison's face as he pushed Grace along to the kitchen to start dinner. He decided to no wake Frank just yet—let him sleep for a bit longer.

"—And three more bodies where found on Killjoy ground, later this afternoon. But let's thank Show-Pony that there was no surviving Killjoys because those show-swine would have certainly gone medieval on them, whipping out their rusty guillotine just to make a statement."

"I don't think the kid should be listening to his, Party," Frank said, finishing his helping of tonight's supper.

"I've heard worse, Fun Ghoul. My daddy _is_ Jet Star."

"So I've heard," he said, accompanied with an eye-roll.

"He did trust her enough to send her here all alone." Grace nodded in agreement to what Party Poison had said.

"Okay, okay, I get it. Now keep quiet. I want to listen to the rest of this," Frank said, huddling closer to the radio.

They all ate in silence in Party Poison's room—the one that housed the most security against a random incursion. This was also where the only radio—besides the one in the car—was at their disposal. Grace was on her knees next to Party Poison's bed, Frank on the bed with Party next to him, the radio on the flimsy wood-rotten nightstand next to Party's bed.

"From what we are seeing, Tumbleweeds, the Killjoys are at the lowest point they've found themselves in a very long time. And I hate to be the first to admit it but, my hopes are wavering. Killjoys, rock 'n rollers, crash-queens—prove me wrong. Up-thrust that volume, kiddies." And with that, the transmission went to static, startling Grace to the back of her heels. She gazed up at Party and Fun for their reaction. Fun was the first to react.

"Fuck, man. How can I sleep at night knowing that at any moment, I could be another man down?" Frank got up, frustrated and desperately—in his mind—searching for a way out, somewhere where paradise awaited them, away from this cruel veracity. "Can't we just get out of California and get the hell out of this place?" He ran his hand through his greasy-clad hair, pacing back and forth in the small length of the room. The hair that he pushed away feel back to its place. "Korse hasn't gotten a hold of Asia, has he?"

"Fun, it's not that easy—"

"You're a kid, Grace! Of course it's not easy for you! Why the hell hasn't your dad gotten you out of this hell-hole? Does he like to see you suffer?" Grace began to tear up, Party noticing this, intervening immediately.

"Fun, enough! You're talking to a child. We can't get out of California because we're going to be ground-beef if we try and get through the borders that Korse made S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W build so we wouldn't leave. Many have tried and many have died because of their thick attempts. It can't be done without a huge risk of dying.

"They have us hounded down to the last drop of sweat we produce. We are a threat to their world-order. They want us to be heart-beating zombies with the medication they have tried to make us take; they don't want us to have an opinion. They just want us to quietly accept everything they're doing to take over the world. Do you know how many people are living in that animated coma—with no emotions—in Battery City alone? This isn't just for me, for you or for Grace—this is way bigger than us and all we could do is fight the motherfucker in charge of this—and that is Korse. By trying to leave, what are we accomplishing? We're running away like cowards, only to be hunted down and killed. Do you want run and die now, or fight and have a better chance of living tomorrow?" By this time, Gerard had back Frank up against the cave's rock walls.

"Don't you go on and lecture me about living in that hell! I lived throught that pain, that is why I had to run. My whole family was under and one day, I forgot my dose and felt for the first time in three years. I didn't think twice about it, and since then, I've been on the run. I left the ones I loved to survive. I joined the Killjoys out of necessity, not because I wanted too.I joined some self-proclaimed Killjoys but the assholes betrayed me and threw me out into the desert to die.

"I lived it, breathed it, and saw it. I don't know why the fuck I trust you but I do. I just need some sort of stability, Party, and if I have to die under the Killjoy name, so be it. I'm doing it for my wife, who is still under the influence of the mood-adjustors." Frank pushed him aside, turning away from Grace's lingering stare and Gerard's suddenly sympathetic flicker.

"This is why we are doing this, Fun. We can't just run—there are people that need us, that need hope."

"I know the Doc hasn't lost hope in us," Grace piped up, her tiny church mouse voice getting picked up by them both. They didn't ask but the question lingering in their eyes. "He's saying that to confuse the Draculoids even further. I can bet anything that they are on their little headsets, telling Korse that we are falling apart—that the rebels that make them waste so much time have finally started deteriorating."

"How can you be so sure that's what Dr. D's intentions are?" She turned to stare at the floor, a war in between her will and promise.

"I can't say. My dad made me promise not to say." She met their gazes.

"This better not be something major, kid." Party threatened lightly. He sighed. "I think we should just get this cleaned up here and get to bed. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow."

And with that, they disbanded to get the room cleaned and into the rooms that Gerard Way had assigned for Grace and Frank. Because Gerard Way was ready to turn in and breakdown in the comfort of his own room.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I own nothing, affiliate with My Chemical Romance or anyone that works, ever worked or is involved with Gerard, Mikey, Ray, or Frank. The order in which I wrote the words pertains to me and only me. If I had the chance to chill with these guys is Desolate Cali 2019, I wouldn't be writing about it; I would instead, totally rock it like Grace Jeanette and be their fifth Killjoy ;) This is my first story here, and I see that there isn't any MCR fics, thought I would be cool to be the unofficial first :) (maybe there are other out there; that would be super sweet.)

Update: I saw that there is more MCR fanfictions on here :D I was so happy to see that and I hope that this shows my happiness. I won't always update twice in one week. Also, this chapter is a bit graphic on the description of Gerard and Lindsey being together D As always, thank you to all the people that have read and liked this story enough to add it to their favorites

Comment. Criticize. Love.

It was early on the day of Bandit Lee's fourth birthday and Gerard was ordered by his wife, Lindsey, to "get the hell up and help with something." Smiling at her anger, he pulled her down and tangled her into the sheets once again, making her an hour behind.

She wasn't complaining about that part she had just shared with her beloved husband; having the family and friends over was what made her huff down the stairs, her hands tangled in her hair, trying to flatten down the messy tuffs. Slyly smiling as he trailed behind, he shrugged on his cotton undershirt, waiting until later to get into his fancy clothes. He knew his chores this morning consisted of probably not only cooking and cleaning, but making sure Bandit got bathed and feed. But he didn't mind the tedious work, compared to the chaos down at the TV studio, with the media going crazy about the escaped mental patient from up-state New York; this quiet friend and family gathering would smooth over the raw nerves of keeping up with the media frenzy.

"Where's Bandit, baby?" He called over to Lindsey, who was mourning the loss of her cake—at this point, a burnt charred, mess. "Watching Barney," she said, the agony of the loss heavy in her voice.

"Sugar, I'll swing by the store and get a cake, if you want," he said as he pulled Bandit out from under the purple dinosaur's hypnotic trance, her face suddenly human again. "Daddy!" She squealed as she wrapped her long lanky arms around his neck. "I'll get Bandi out of your hair for a while."

"Of all the years this child has had a birthday, I've attempted to make her a cake. It's like God doesn't want to make that desire a reality." She let the baking pan full of burn bread fall to the sink with a big _thunk._ "Run along, kiddies. Momma needs her space." She turned to blow them both a kiss, both of them reaching out, catching the kiss and placing them: Gerard on his mouth and Bandit on her cheek.

Swinging his hand by the foyer's decorative table for the keys to the Trans Am, he opened the door, letting Bandit go onto the stoop, taking it as a chance to race to the car.

"Strapped in well enough, Bandi?" He adjusted his rear-view mirror to catch her nodding ferociously between the tight straps of her car seat. "Alright, hold on tight, killjoy, we're in for a bumpy ride." He revved the ignition, earning an ear-shattering squeal from the backseat as Bandit had a laughing fit; her long chocolate hair riding with the wind of her open window as Gerard filed into the traffic that filled the streets of Battery City.

One more look back and he saw the smile that certainly belonged to her mother; the same smile that made his heart beat twice as fast at the sight of her. Her eyes were an olived-brown that gave her away in a heartbeat. You could tell when Bandit was mad at Mommy or Daddy because her big round eyes would turn a dark hazel, twisted with the angry specks of gold; or when she was happy, her eyes glistened like two dark emeralds in her sockets.

He was one lucky son-of-a-gun for having the two of them in his life.

"Bandi, what kind of cake are you going to pick out?" She turned to look at the deteriorating fabric ceiling, sticking her little pink tongue out from between her teeth in thought.

"I want a Killjoy cake, Daddy. Yeah, that's the kind of cake I want for my birfday. I want that kind of cake." Gerard let out a quiet chuckle as he glanced left and right, put his directional and turned left.

"I don't think they have those kinds of cakes at the store's bakery, mommas."

"But I want that kind of cake, Daddy! It's my birfday today. That's what mommy said to me. She said it was _my_ day. And I want a Killjoy cake."

"How about we ask if we can get them to write a special message for you, for your special day? How does that sound?" he said to sooth the growing monster that would be one of her tantrums. He turned into the parking lot, found a spot and got out, scoping up Bandit from her car seat.

She sighed, just like her father. "Okay, Daddy. But I want a blue, red, yellow and green cake, like the colors Barney taught me today. Blue! Green! Red! Yellow!" She sang loudly as he placed her in the front basket of the cart.

"Blue, red, green, yellow!" Gerard sang along, earning a few turning heads and weird stares. She began to laugh, so he joined her, snuggling closer to her, her squeals becoming that much louder. He led the cart to the store's bakery to glace at the pre-made cakes that were mostly blank but with a bit of decorative jazz to make them interesting.

"Oh, Oh, Daddy!" Bandit exclaimed as she pointed to one of the cakes behind the cold glass. "I want that one." It had the colors she was asking for, with a blank canvas for a special message.

"Excuse me," Gerard called out to the guy behind the counter, focused feverish on rolling out the black fondant thin enough to coat the cake that sat to his side. His head shot up.

"Oh hello, how can I help you today?" The kid looked of about twenty-five, green-tipped mo-hawk, ½ inch gauges and crooked smile that made Bandit blush. His arms and face were full of flour.

"Daddy, tell him about the cake," Bandit said in a hushed, loud voice, hiding behind her hand. Frank still heard her. The two men exchanged hardy chuckles. Frank signaled that he would be with them in just a moment, placing the cake into the glass refrigerator along with the fondant. Wiping his hands on the apron, he walked up the display case. "I'm Frank. What can I do for you today?" He smiled again, making Bandit blush a violent fuchsia.

"Today it's my baby girl's fourth birthday," Gerard said, looking at her as she squirmed nervously in her seat. "And we came here so she could pick out her own birthday cake."

"Well, congratulations. Happy birthday. Which one were you interested, sir?"

"Call me Gerard—sir makes me feel old," Gerard said. "The blank one with the colorful frame around it, please." He pointed out to the one in the middle of the third row up.

Gracefully, Frank swiped it cleanly, as if it weighed nothing, from the display case and onto his work table. "And what would you like it to read, Gerard?"

"'Happy 4th Birthday, my little Killjoy,'" he said, visualizing it in front of him with his hand for Bandit's sake. She gasped and started clapping loudly. "I'm getting a Killjoy cake!" she began to chant.

Frank laughed quietly. "What color would this Killjoy want her lettering in?"

"Red!" she said, jumping up and down, clapping continuously.

"Give me twenty minutes and I'll have it ready for you. You can shop around for a bit to kill time." He promised. Gerard nodded and waved at Frank in an acknowledging thank-you.

"Bandit, I have an idea." Gerard said to his daughter as he turned the cart away and glided into the store blindly. "Let's get mommy something."

"Yeahh," she answered, holding onto the cart's handle over Gerard's hands.

"What should we get her, mommas?" Again, Bandit thoughtful stuck her tongue out.

"She really likes to come to see the shampoos and soaps. She looks at them for hours. Get her a bottle so she could stop bringing me here, Daddy. I get bored." He smiled, turning into the card aisle.

"How about a card?" He scanned the colorful pieces of paper lined up in their place, according to what they were about.

"Okay, but pick a pretty queen one. You're always calling her your queen."

"Look at this one," he said as he picked one with a beautiful scripture written on it; it continued on the inside.

'_Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it doesn't not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil, but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always preserves. Love never fails,' 1 Corinthians 13:4-8_, it read.

"Mommas, I think I found the perfect one for mommy. She'll love it because in the card, it tells her how much her loves means to us."

"I love mommy, daddy."

"I love her, too," he sighed.

* * *

><p>"Well, look at what we've got here, Kiddo," Frank said as he placed the box with the clear top on the counter for Bandit to look into. She clasped her hands over her mouth and gasped so loudly, Gerard's lungs hurt. It was exactly how she wanted it.<p>

"Daddy, I like it a lot. Thank you," She beamed.

"Thanks a lot, man. You made my kid's day that more enjoyable."

"No problem. I was meaning to ask you something. Not to intrude but, you're Arthur Way, from the Local News, Channel 109."

"You're the first person to recognize me today," he smiled. "Yep, that's me."

"Wow," Frank extended his arm across the island between them to shake his hand. Gerard took it. "I've never meet a famous person before," he said, earning a deep chuckle from Gerard.

"I'm not _that_ famous—just your average house-man, with bills to pay and a family to come home too."

"Oh man, Jamia's gonna freak when I tell her I met you. My fiancé has been following your recent report on Esrok Hertz almost religiously. She's really freaked out that this guy is really going to get his crazy ways and do good on his threats."

"We're working really hard to bring the citizens of Battery City the latest news. Tonight, I think it's going to be Shelly Barkley filling in for me, on account of my kid's birthday. Off the record, I think the psycho'll get caught soon. Tell your fiancé not to fret. We're so far away and with 2014's technology, they'll get him soon enough. So how much is it gonna be?"

You could hear the Noise a mile away. The music was blasting thought the speakers. Recognizing it, Bandit immediately began to sing along. "If my velocity starts to make you sweat, then just don't let go," she sang, Gerard quickly joining in. "'Cause the emergency room got no vacancy; and we just, and we just, and we just, and we just—"

"Where in the world did you find this mix?" Gerard asked as he reached Lindsey in the foyer.

"Oh, a little birdie told me where I could find it," she said, winking at Bandit as she ran in to greet her friends, who were dancing up a storm—and that was without sugar in their blood. "They love it, baby." She beamed as she took the load off his hands and kissed him.

"It's just some of the old crap Mikey and I used to mess around with." He followed her through the house. The Noise intensified, pumping rhythmically against his eardrum. She said something, but he didn't catch it over the laughter and screams of the children and his own voice. "What?"

"I said they're eating it up. They can't stop dancing to it, look." She motioned to the happy-go-lucky kids bouncing up and down on his rug, shimmying, moon-walking, or just simply shaking their tail-feather.

Smiling, he followed her into the kitchen. "Killjoy?" She cocked an eyebrow his way. "What happened to 'Bandit'? Did she change her name again? Last week, she was Motor-baby."

"I called her that as were merging into traffic and she wanted it on the cake. I'm a softie when it comes to the most precious creature you ever made with me, baby," he said, wrapping his arms around Lindsey waist from behind, kissing her neck.

"Stop kissing my ass, Gerard," she said softly, enjoying his lips on her skin.

"I'm not kissing your ass—though, if this house wasn't full of people, the things I'd—"

"Uncle Mikey and Aunt Alicia are—holy shit," Mikey said as he barged into the kitchen door, Gerard and Lindsey pulling apart, faces red and clearing throats.

"So," he added, trying to cut the tension apart. "Where's my favorite niece?" Bandit came running towards Mikey and Alicia.

"Uncle Mickey, Auntie Alice!" She squealed, grabbing onto Mikey's left leg and Alicia's right; she still hadn't learned the correct way to say their names, even after the nameless times they had sat her down and told her how to say them.

"Booger! Happy birthday, kid. How've you been?" He lifted her between the two.

"Good. Is that my present?" she asked, pointing to the gift-wrapped box Alicia had in her arms. Alicia smiled.

"Yes, booger—" She trailed off, leading Mikey and Bandit into the living room where the sea of kids and parents filled the room.

"Well, it's not the first time," Gerard chimed, sticking his hands into his back pockets. Lindsey's surprise popped into his mind.

"Oh gosh, don't remind me," she said, hiding her blush into the palm of her hand. "Don't bring those up."

"Oh, I won't mention that one time in the car, right outside their house, and the car alarm went off..."

"Gerard!" she exclaimed, slapping his chest playfully, her cheeks creeping with the vivid red color again. "Keep that up and you won't get your special surprise tonight."

"I've got one for you right here." He took the hidden card out of his back pocket, her eyes wide.

"Now, what is this?" Her eyes shimmered.

"It's a little something we picked up on our trip to the store." Taking it out of the envelope, she read the print on the card, along with the small—but powerful enough to make her tear-up—inscription following the rest of the passage. _XOXO Gee & Bandit. We love ya, mama._ Her eyes glisten with tears as she fell into his arms. "This was so thoughtful of you, sweetie," she sniffled. "Thank you."

"You're welcome, honey." He kissed her forehead, pulling her closer.

* * *

><p>"I didn't know that kids that age had so much energy—especially for <em>long<em> periods of time like that," Gerard commented as he shuffled into their bedroom, already having put Bandit to sleep. Lindsey was in charge of cleaning the disaster of cake and other gunk that was plastered everywhere around the house by those scandalous rug-rats. "I thought they'd, at least, sit and rest for a couple of minutes every so often. Makes me want to be four again, just to have that sort of energy throughout the day." Lindsey responded with a quick smirk and laughter.

"Bandit enjoyed herself. Did she go to sleep already?" she asked from the bathroom mirror as she removed her make-up.

"She pooped herself out; she was sleeping like a rock the second I put her down. But she didn't go down without a fight, as always." He plopped into bed, still fully clothed.

"Gerard?" She came into the room, a few minutes later. He just grunted in acknowledgement. "Are you asleep?" He shook his head.

"Gerard," she said once more. He turned his head to see a blurred silhouette of her against the night's light shining through window. His mind had stopped his breathing to use that valuable brain-juice to process the image of her in that skimpy lingerie. She smiled seductively.

"Surprise, sweetie," she said as she took one, two, three steps closer to him, causing him to sit up-right—along with something else. The tired mood that had plagued him before left him faster than his breath.

"This is one hell of a surprise, Linds," he managed to say as he accepted her between his legs. She coiled her arms around his neck, bringing him closer to her lips to begin to nip at his neck. She could feel his Adam's apple struggling to keep a moan inside his throat.

"This, isn't, the, surprise." She kissed his skin between every word.

"Then what is?" he chocked out, digging his fingertips lightly into the material covering her bottom. She giggled, pulling away from his throat. She caught his eyes.

"I didn't want to tell anyone, _anyone,_ before I told you." She held his head between her palms. He leaned in, hinting for her to continue from her uncalled for pause. She leaned to him once again, feeling her hot, steamy breath in his ear; his pants became tighter.

"Sugar, I'm pregnant." The smile in her words made his heart skip ten beats. His hands pulled her from him, looking hungrily into her eyes, making sure this wasn't a hoax.

"You're kidding me, right?" This was the same reaction to a different situation, almost five years ago, when she announced to his whole family that she was with child. He made a scene in front of his extended family, almost taking her on the dinner table, right then and there, so this time, she was prepared. Did this man always get horny at the thought of his wife being pregnant?

"To prove it, you can sift through the trash bins out back, find four positive tests or call Dr. Lerma tomorrow at her office."

"Another baby, Lindsey? And just today, I was contemplating the fact that I am one lucky fucker for having you and Bandit—but another baby? I think I could just rip my clothes off, run down the street, screaming to the whole world that I'm gonna be a daddy again." He pressed his ear to her belly, hopefully to hear the new life shift inside her.

"Let's keep the ripping of clothing behind doors and exclusive to me? But now that you mention it…" She trailed off, pushing him back, straddling him.

"I'm curious to know how we accomplished _not_ getting pregnant before if we bang like rabbits?" he asked.

"I was on birth control, sweetheart," she said, beginning to pull the straps of her black lacy bra off her shoulders.

"How long ago did you get off—"

"Are we really going to get into this, or are you going to rip _my_ clothes off and take me?" She reached back and undid the latch, her breasts spilling free, Gerard's eyes going as wide as saucers. He shook his head as she leaned in, smirking as he could feel her breath against his flesh. He shot up to meet her half-way, taking one of her nipples into his mouth, in response, she moaned, threw her head back, holding onto his shoulders as she gyrated her hips back and forth on his pelvis. The barrier that sat between them had to go; Gerard taking the upper hand and pulling at the material that was tight around her hips.

Slipping off the cotton tee and jeans he never managed to change out of, he proceeded to pinning her down, dominating, his blood rushing hot for more of her, finally tearing her matching, see-through lace panties. He could feel her jagged breath and felt the restlessness of her hips against his, begging him for more. He crashed his lips to hers, Lindsey submitting to him even further by wiggling to the middle of the bed to reach up and grab hold of the headboard pillars. The sheer will of him taking, taking gave her more leverage to get off, moaning as he trailed butterfly kisses on every curve he could find—that curve being the silky skin of the underside of her breast or the slender slopes of her hips, bucking and yearning under his touch.

He dipped two fingers inside her, feeling her arch under him as her vocal cords overturned with moans, filling his ears with the wonderful sound. "Don't be gentle, Gerard." Hearing his voice said in her low, howled tone made the fabric around his waist that much tighter. "I don't have the patience for you to be soft and gentle tonight; I want it rough, hard, deep—" she was cut off prematurely, his long, slender fingers penetrating her deeper.

His stroking intensified as she grew wetter, tighter around him, hotter, keeping their gazes locked. To add to the tremendous pleasure already coursing lively in her, he bowed his head, spreading her further, finding her wondrous little pink nub.

She dug her head into the pillow beside her to hide her screaming, curling her fingers around the pillars tighter as he watched her reaction to every lick, stroke, touch.

"Gerard," she began to chant after every quick, hollow inhale of breath. She had reached her edge, he knew, so he stopped and slid into her, taking his time to relish the feeling of every wonderful layer of her. She let go of the headboard's bars, clinging to his neck and hips with her legs as her breath became bated, sharp.

Every nerve was on fire, going haywire with every deep, wild thrust as she pumped her hips in sync with his. Moans weren't enough; she couldn't even begin to pronounce his name, instead she began to pant, tightening around him. "You almost there, baby?" he panted along, the thrusting making him feel the pressure at the bottom of his navel, but he wanted her to come first. Digging her fingernails deeper into the skin of his back, she nodded, "I'm close. I'm so close. Say it, Gerard. Say it," she exhaled jaggedly.

"Oh baby," he lowered his head to nibble at her ear. "Come, baby, come." She gasped feeling right about to fall over the edge; she just needed that one last push. "Oh, Lindsey."

Together, they clenched every muscle in their bodies as they fell into the bottomless, abundance of pure ecstasy. She screamed, scoring his back with her fingernails, and he moaned—both releasing the tension that had been building up rhythmically inside of them.

His elbows locked at either side of her; he couldn't move as the orgasm whipped his gushing blood into a wobbly frenzy, his head in dizzying circles. He looked down to catch Lindsey's face; she glowed with a priceless serenity—the look she always had when she had yet to touch base with ground. She was still on cloud twenty.

Regaining strength back in his muscles, he managed to pull out, lying next to her, soon Lindsey finding the nook in his warm arms, snuggling closer. He could smell the faint scent of her indulgent fragrance in her hair while she moved around to nestle closer to Gerard. Just when they were falling back to planet earth, they heard Bandit's screams from across the hall, calling both Mommy and Daddy to save her from 'Mo-mo,' the evil monster that wanted to take over her room. On various occasions, Lindsey blamed Gerard for her vivid imagination—he was the one that introduced the now four-year-old to Frankstein and Count Dracula.

"Mo-mo is back and he is hiding in my closet!" she shrieked from across the hall. "I'm scared!" Switching over to parent-mode, they shoved their robes on, running to Bandit's room across the hall. Still crying and bawling, she clung to her sheets and was coiled at the headboard of her bed. Lindsey scoped her up, rocking her gently as Gerard avidly searched her room for the imaginary monster.

"Where did you see him, mommas?"

"In the closet," Bandit hiccupped back, pointing to her closet that was right in front of Gerard as she hid behind Lindsey's hair. Pulling the half-open sliding wood door all the way open, he stuck his head inside, searching for the culprit that had made his princess cry.

"I can't see anything."

"He's there," she whispered. "He's hiding because he's scared of you, Daddy."

"Why don't you sleep with us tonight and Daddy can get rid of that evil Mo-mo tomorrow?" Lindsey cooed the restless Bandit in her arms. Sucking her thumb, she nodded snuggling closer to her neck.

"Alright baby. You can sleep between us, so momma and I can protect you," Gerard said, pulling his two—three—darling girls closer to him, kissing Bandit on the top of her head. "C'mon, let's get you back to sleep." He took her out of Lindsey's arms, shifting her to his left arm to grab hold of Lindsey's hand. Such small gesture warmed her heart. Bandit had already dozed back to sleep as they exchanged smiles and headed back to their bedroom, fingers linked.

"I can't wait till baby Violet is born," he said, laying with them both, Bandit between them. She stroked her hair.

"How are you so sure it's going be a girl again?" He shrugged.

"Father's intuition? I'm not sure but something tells me this little baby is going to be another princess." He pressed a warm hand into her belly. She placed hers over his.

"Maybe you're right. You were right about Bandit."

* * *

><p>Four months later, he was right. One month later, Esrok Hertz—now known as Korse—took over the USA, killing the President and turning everyone against everyone. Hell broke out.<p>

She lost the baby in the stress of it all; almost dying of the blood loss in the process. Good thing a medic was amongst them, helping her until she was healed. They killed him a few weeks later.

The aftermath was secondary; now it was all about keeping you and your own safe and alive.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I own nothing, affiliate with My Chemical Romance or anyone that works, ever worked or is involved with Gerard, Mikey, Ray, or Frank. The order in which I wrote the words pertains to me and only me. If I had the chance to chill with these guys is Desolate Cali 2019, I wouldn't be writing about it; I would instead, totally rock it like Grace Jeanette and be their fifth Killjoy ;) This is my first story here, and I see that there isn't any MCR fics, thought I would be cool to be the unofficial first :) (maybe there are other out there; that would be super sweet.)

Update: I do apologize for not updating earlier this week. Yeah, I'm not gonna give you the usual Busy BS, because I kind am with my new job and all that jazz; thought I'd stir the pot a bit more and let you all wait at the edge of your seat for chapter four:P. Let me know what you think- Does it suck? Do you love it? Like the story line so far? I also don't want to post this story too fast; then it ends too fast and its just not enjoyable. What is most frustrating is that there are not enough hours in a day to get my writing flowing. Pink Promise to try and not be late on my weekly updates. Love to all the ones that follow this story almost feverishly :3. Enjoi.

Comment. Criticize. Love.

Loud banging. That's all he registered as he began to wake up. His mind still heavy with sleep, he heard the loud Noise against his door and registered it as a threat; not a second later, jumping out of bed, pulling out his gun, aiming it at the door, ready to fire.

"Who is it?"

"Me, Party," Fun's voice slid heavily in through the cracks of the door. They were fogged enough to blur his words with one another. Party felt silly. He should have expected Grace or Fun to come pounding at the door. "The sun's up." Even through the thick rock walls, he could also feel the hot warmth of the sun; it was what probably woke Frank up.

Sliding his gun back into his holster, he picked up what was left of his sanity off the floor and unlocked the door. "Grace woke up at the crack of dawn. She didn't make a single Noise until about an hour ago, when she went upstairs to make breakfast. I'm getting kind of worried because she hasn't made an effort to come back down." Party dashed past him, the last part of Frank's sentence falling on deaf ears. Taking the steps two at a time, he pushed the heavy door open, the sound of sizzling catching his attention; the smell wasn't half bad either.

"Grace?" he called out cautiously; just in case, he slapped back the clasp of his holster and pull his ray gun out a bit.

"In the kitchen!" she called out. "I woke up super earlier to read my Bible—if you see Fun tell him I'm sorry for waking him. It's like I have a built in alarm-clock or maybe my body is so used to waking up at this time with Daddy. I decided to cook something for breakfast before we left." Party stumbled to catch the rest, his mind was still spinning on the word _Bible._ He hadn't picked one up in ages. To him, God did not existed—if he did, why would he let such a thing as what they were living through happen? Why would He take everyone he loved away from him?

He had a million and one questions but he decided to bite his tongue. He had a feeling once he got this one going, she'd never stop until she finally drew Jesus' names from his lips.

"That was very thoughtful of you," he said. He began to gauge the environment—everything was still puked all over the floor. The good thing was that he wouldn't have to worry about this place after today.

A pang shook his heart. He'd miss it, yeah, but he was better off leaving this dump than suffering on his own.

Moments later, Fun came waltzing behind, his eyes shadowed with hostility. "Grace okay?" was all he said, his finger of the trigger of his gun. Party nodded, jerking his thumb over to the whistle coming from the kitchen. He began to walk towards it; Fun followed.

As they walked in, Grace placed two large stacked plates on each of their hands—the saucers heavy with scrambled eggs, fresh biscuits and thick, juicy pieces of sliced ham, along with a few pancakes, soaked in what looked like maple syrup. Their mouths watered.

"Dig in, boys. You can help yourself to seconds if you're still hungry after this." She strolled past them, a plate with not so much in her right hand, a steaming basket of biscuits in the other. Still in awe over the ten-year-old cooking a breakfast of this caliber, they blindly followed her to one of the cleanest, empty booths.

"So, Party, are you going to bring up your radio? I wanna eat by the sunlight." She smiled as she placed the basket between them. "Hurry, so we can all say grace together."

"—Not too many made it through the night, but Dr. D and Show-Pony are glad to have the survivors back. This was just reported to the Zone—BLI had just released a brand new patch that will be legally enforced to be worn starting tomorrow. The patch is called NoMasPensar or NMP for short. It's purpose? To totally annihilate one's imagination and in studies, has revealed to be more potent that the orally taken mood-adjustors. BLI is also issuing its use to minimize the incident of a missed dose, seeing as it could be worn for over a month at a time, with continuous concentrations of the toxin in the blood. They don't care if it's Oxycotin genocide or adolescent suicide; they want every emotion—good or bad—gone.

"Also, to add more bad news, sound after 8 PM is completely prohibited and as of yesterday, all the art in Battery City had been burnt to a nice crisp. C'mon Killjoys, engage the energy, light up the effigy. We need you more than ever." For the second time, it went directly to static; no music, no Noise followed the daily updates anymore. Were Dr. DeathDefying and Show-Pony in any immediate danger?

For a second, none of them moved, just kept still enough to feel their chest rising up—exhaling with a long breath out—before anyone said word. "Why do you think they haven't played anything anymore after the reports?" Fun asked his expression transfixed on the colorful BOOM that garnished the radio on the table beside them.

"It's too risky." It was Grace who answered. "S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W is pounding at their Dracs to be stricter, look deeper for Killjoys, kill faster. With this new NMP patch, the incident of escapees is going to drop. This is going to make their jobs easier, meaning that Korse is going to expect more Killjoy blood to be shed. This, in turn, means a lot for the Dracs. First of all, it gets Korse off their back and second, there are going to be less of them murdered at the hand of Korse himself. I think he's shed more Dracs' blood—by his own hand, I mean—than Killjoys' blood. Their hands are stained with our blood." They both just gawked at her. She looked back between the both of them.

"What?" she finally asked.

"Have you been lying to us about your age? Maybe you're some sort of young-looking, old midget?" Fun managed to ask, Party's face splitting with a smile. She raised her eyebrow at him as Party hid his smile behind his hand.

"I am ten. I have lived on this earth for 126 months, that being 3,711 days. Let me repeat myself—I AM TEN." She held her ten fingers up to show them her validity.

"By sounding so smart, kid, you aren't helping your case." Fun leaned back, sucking lightly on his teeth with his tongue. You could see the frustration creeping onto Grace's face. She was about to bark back but Party Poison came to the rescue.

"Sitting here debating Grace's age isn't going to help us get anything done. I want to be out of this dump by"—Party Poison looked out onto the dusty, barren desert—"at the very least, by the time the sun reaches the highest point in the sky." It was as if they had receded back a couple of hundred years, reciting time by the actions of the big ball of UV rays in the sky—all instead of numbers. Clocks in Battery City were scarce; the only ones available were the ones that the Dracs wore on their wrists. The only other—this one publicly available—clock was in Battery City's Town Square; this is also where all the daily transmissions occurred. Many giant TVs blared out "Everything is perfect," "We can fix you," "Love is a pill" and "Building a better you" slogans that repeated over and over everyday, 24 hours a day, 7 days a week; all for the zombies that just smiled and went on with their day. Fun could sometimes hear the female voice slip him the quiet, seductive murmur when the dead of night fell upon him.

"So what do we need to round up?" asked Grace.

"Essentials—food and weapons. I do have some important data I've been accumulation over the last years that may be of some interest to your father." Party got up and paced around the diner as the other two just waited patiently for his next command. "The less we take the better." He bent down to pick up a broken trinket, its pieces gutted around the bigger chunks. "Material things are replaceable—a life isn't." Before he let his mind wonder, he dropped the bauble, dusted his hands and turned to face Frank and Grace. With a stern face, he said, "What? You two gonna stare at me all day? We got to get out of this place ASAP." He snapped his fingers to add emphasis on his words.

As they reacted and scrambled to their feet, Gerard lightly touched his back pocket, feeling the slight bulge raised through the material.

Maybe something were disposable, replaceable, but that little piece of his material past that sat in his pocket was the only something he had to hinged his sanity upon to help him not completely lose what was left of his brain.

His wallet. It was the only thing he had managed to salvage through the five years of hell on earth. Nobody bothered carrying them around anymore; there was no debit or credit cards to house, no monetary currency the Killjoys accept as their own. Larceny was one way they got their scant resources.

In it, he kept a torn copy of Bandit's birth certificate, Lindsey's expired driver's license, and a picture he managed to snag of the last ultrasound Lindsey had of baby Violet Mari.

How—he would ask over and over again—could one lose so much in a mere year and a half? The baby, Bandit, and Lindsey, in that order. Then a pang of guilt overtook him as they finally headed out, car on the desolate road, wind tirelessly in their hair.

Mikey. He had completely forgot about his baby brother and his heart sank deeper, his lips behind his bandana drooping as well. How could he have forgotten the only flesh and blood still walking, alive out there? He didn't know exactly where he was, but he knew he was still out there.

And then Grace's voice interjected. "—there's a short-cut through the city's Town Square. It will save us a lot of time, instead of making the round trip around the desert." Her words sunk in slowly.

"How are we supposed to make it without a total mob of Dracs massacring us? As you can see, we are three; they're—ummm like—a lot more," Fun said, Grace reacting with a frustrated sigh, accompanied with an eye roll.

"I didn't get caught and I was on foot."

"Grace," Party said, his voice sounding like that of a concerned parent, "are you completely sure this is the safest and most effective way to get to your father and Kobra Kid's underground hideout?" She nodded.

"I'm not asking you to take the obvious route through the middle of town; there are many roads that lead the way to Town Square." Her last words fell aimlessly as Party saw a white Supra come out of nowhere, now driving behind them, the driver hooded in the shadows that the ceiling of the car provided. All that was visible were his two fleshy, thin skinned hands. He caught the demonic happy face cleanly stamped on the side of the car.

"Shit," came a whispered curse from Poison's lips as he pushed his foot hard into the petal till it hit the floor, almost reaching a hundred an hour. The driver following mimicked, almost kissing the Trans Am's rear bumper.

"Um, Poison, you okay there?" There was reeling worry in Fun's voice as he gripped the headrest of the passenger's seat and looked back; Grace sat just behind Party and seemed to sport the same expression as Fun's.

"They're following us," he hissed back, gazing at Fun through the rear-view mirror and then again at the fleshy pair of hands that held the steering wheel of the Supra behind them. They lightly tapped against the plastic, almost in banter; he was well aware that Party was looking. Party's pride shot straight into his throat and he pushed for 120. It was a destructive game of cat and mouse.

"Push out the ceiling and shoot out its tires or we are going to have these motherfuckers following us into the Killjoy hideout," Party barked. He left no room for opposing opinions from neither of them. "Ammunition is under the seats along with a RPG-7. Don't fuck it up or we'll end up at the receiving end of one of those bad boys." He kept on driving.

"Sure, no pressure," Fun murmured under his breath as Grace and him kneeled down and popped open the seat they were just sitting on. It was overflowing with every possible weapon known to man—both prehistoric and recent.

The bastards kept pursuit as Party sped in zigzags, circles, and every other geometric shape he could pull off in the Trans. The dust that both cars were picking up was starting to cloud the sterile road in front of him, his aggravation snapping hotly in his blood. "What is taking you two so damn long to blow those mothereffin' tires out?"

"Gimme your ray gun," Grace demanded from Poison as Fun fumbled with the big green RPG.

"What?" His heart beat raced as spanking new adrenaline zipped through his blood, boiling his veins to a hot, hot heat.

"Give me your damn gun!" she screamed. She sounded out every syllable, as you would for a child. She held out her hand impatiently. Resigned, he handed it over. She pushed up at the removable ceiling and began to fire. And that was how the battle began—with the loud crackle of Party's and Grace's rays slamming against the smooth, immaculate metal that covered the Supra.

Draculoids shot out from the sides of the car behind them—two of them against a ten-year old—and she ducked inside, whispering the Fun in a desperate voice, "How much longer till you get that thing to work?" He continued to fumble. He shook his head and was startled by the piercing _pings_ of the rays ricocheting away from the Trans.

"Grace, drive!" Party ordered as he picked the guns away from her hands and plucked her from her place from behind. It might have been a catastrophic decision—did the child not pick things up so fast.

For a second, the car swerved but she picked up the 123 mph Party was doing as she pushed her seat forward and hit the gas for all it was worth. Frustrated of seeing nothing but nervous hands working on the grenade launcher, he picked whatever was left in the armory and threw it at Fun. "Shoot. Target tires, windshields, Dracs, anything that might get them off out trail. We can't be to far from Town Square." The rays continued to hit the Trans mercilessly.

With that, they both shot up and began to shot, anything—headlights, Draculoids' ray gun, tires. Fun managed to puncture one, the smell of burning rubber hot in their noses. The driver lost control as Grace continued to scream for them to use the RPG already. "Remove the safety, load it, turn it to fire and pull the trigger. It will get them off our trail!"

Between the both of them, they picked it up, did as she had ordered and fired. It was a spectacular sight that blinded Fun and Party, mouths hanging open as the wonderfully loud and vicious explosion made the car behind them detonate in a million little pieces. It was all confetti after that. Party's eyes watered at the grandiose performance; the urge to clap almost surpassing him, but he suppressed it as he set the roof back to its rightful place. With shaky hands, they caught their breaths and regained sights. Party looked back at the mess that was left and all he saw was the two Dracs dead on the desert floor, but no driver. He swallowed his heart and sat back as Grace led the way.

The eeriness of the driver not being there after the chaos was what left made him think of only one that would walk away from such wreckage. But then again, that Korse didn't have the balls to go out, spotlight battle, and put his precious life in danger. He still couldn't stop thinking about it as Grace turned blindly through turnpike gates, into a tunnel that was behind a wrecked building, the grating slogans already within earshot.

"Make it stop," Frank said, covering his ears and huddling doubled-over. _Make it stop_, Gerard said within himself as he saw the lights of the tunnel, then complete darkness shadow over.

"We're here, boys."

His head shot up. "Grace is back." He was huddled over the spilled-out control pad before him. Cellophane Lithium jumped a bit as she saw him sniffing his daughter out. Cellophane dropped her arms, a wrench in hand and chuckled. "How the hell do you know that?" She, too, was working on a malfunctioning part of the control panel.

"When she was a baby I implanted a—never mind. I just know." Jet Star rubbed his hands together and—with such certainty—went out to meet her at the only logical place she would be—the glass entrance. That's were he saw a little shadow, the long silhouette of a car and two male-like outlines trailing behind her.

"That's it?" He said befuddled. He sent out his only child—risked her life, for two only idiots? He shook his head as they got closer and he felt the presence of another body in the area. He was well aware that Cell had trailed lazily behind. She craned her neck a bit over Jet's shoulder. She emitted a small noise of approval. "Not bad. The one on the right looks a little short but—hey—it's nothing ol' Cellophane won't work with." She winked at Jet.

"I remember when you tried to make me a step-father to your daughter. Grace almost gained a sister."

"Eh, don't flatter yourself. I was blindly in love with anyone that would have given me the time of day. But I still love ya, man," she said playfully punching his shoulder. She let out a small _hip-hip hooray!_ as she saw little Grace come closer, following the procedures as she let the two men that followed her in.

Her heart would have been in her throat for a week as well if Bandit was the one going. Light finally showered their faces as they stepped inside. They were dirty, murky and looked as if they hadn't bathed in weeks. Then she paused on the crazy red-head, her eyes wide.

Was it? Nah…

"Hello, men," Jet Star disturbed her train of thought. "I am Jet Star and this is—"

She identified herself as Cellophane Lithium. Party Poison, he said. Fun Ghoul, Frank chimed behind, both of them shaking her hand. But in all that useless banter of introductions, Gerard knew who she was and, for that reason alone, she got his heart to stop beating. The lack of blood flow to his brain eliminated any chance of saying anything, so he let Grace and Frank talk.

She was different now; her hair didn't reach past her shoulders anymore. It was now pooling at the nape of her neck—jet-black. It no longer fell in the curly tuff like he remembered it used to every morning. It was now stiff straight, rigidly cold, as was her stare. Her lips were sheathed in a blood-red lipstick. It made them look thick and plump. He studied her further.

She didn't recognize him. No flicker of identifying him as her husband and father to her only daughter clouded her eyes, or maybe her face was too rigid to expose how she truly felt. Maybe it was his hair—both the lack there of and the absurd cherry-red color it sported. But after a few minutes of being in him and his friend's presence, she began to let the stern look and her preconceived ideas fall, along with the thin line she held her lips in.

_His eyes_, was all she thought. They brightened underneath the random locks of red hair that he pushed away. She noticed he tried to sneak a peek at her every time their attentions were all on Fun Ghoul or Gracie.

At first, she was in denial. That couldn't be him; she trained herself to say that time and time again. Can't be. They all got massacred a few nights ago. Then doubt set in, snuggling into denial's warmed-up seat. It had no plans of going anywhere.

She looked down at his hand—it was absent of any ring. Her heart sank, it broke along the way. She got it beating twice as hard for nothing; it was a false alarm—again. She sighed internally. She resigned herself to the thought of it _maybe_ being him.

But Kobra Kid was the one that murdered that doubt inside her head as he came in unannounced, nonchalantly munching on a red apple from their underground greenhouse. He turned to look at the newcomers and his heart almost exploded in his chest. The slice he had bitten off was painful to swallow as he trying to clear the way from words. Instead, he gawked at the red-head.

"Gerard?" He cut Party Poison off mid-sentence, every pair of eyes on Kobra. Party paled even more than when he laid eyes on Lindsey.

"Mi-Mikey?" He questioned back. This time, Lindsey turned paper white as she looked back and forth between the two of them. She repeated Party's birth name in a low whisper as her fingertips and toes fell below zero. Her heart stopped. Her stomach churned the contents of it sickeningly. It all blurred as she collapsed; the last thing that crossed her mind was a last prayer that Bandit did not come out of her room looking for Mommy and finding lost Daddy with crazy vivid red hair. It would certain scar poor nine-year-old Bandit Lee Way for life.

All she remembered was the slight throbbing of her temples as she finally began to regain consciousness. Her insides felt heavy, filled with something that pushed them down. Then the setting sun that she had been so unaccustomed to assaulted her tired eyes with the vivid scarlet and the slight imperfections of the tiny purple blood vessels running along the inside of her lid. She moaned, letting her head fall so her cheek touched the cooled side of her pillow. Everything in the room shifted Noisily. She emitted a Noise of disagreement to the Noisy scraps bombarding her sensitive ears.

In the distance, her name was called. It was by lilts she had become accustomed to over time. "Cell, wake up. Are you okay?" The familiar lilt called out. She began to grasp on as she woke up, almost in slow episodes, as everything inside her began to wake up along with her brain. Something cold was slapped onto her forehead, cheeks, and chest. That alone startled her half off the bed, her throbbing head bouncing along with her, screaming with pain. She whimpered once more and the first thing she saw as she opened her eyes was Jet Star's black eye-patch and his chocolate brown eye, loaded with worry, searching avidly for her face to show any signs of falling back into a stilled coma.

"How long was I under for?" she asked as her voice croaked.

"A few minutes," a foreign voice said. The stranger fell into the picture—it was Fun Ghoul who had said it. So she wasn't dreaming—Fun Ghoul and Party Poison—as they called themselves—were two very living beings. She let her head fall back too hard on her pillow. It didn't have much fluff, adding to the pain already pulsating through her head. Her right arm landed over her eyes, shielding them from the sun. She groaned.

"What happened? Where's Kobra?" Her shield, her comrade, her then-husband's baby brother; the only person—besides Jet Star—that she had to count on. Her heart beat doubled at the thought of him not being in the room.

"He's right outside talking to Party Poison," Jet Star said, turning to eye Fun Ghoul, scrutinizing him further. Her face paled again and her stomach was at an upheaval, Jet Star seeing this, immediately grabbing her head between his giant palms to make sure she didn't fall back under.

"Cell, Cell, stay awake. Keep those eyes open," he exclaimed.

"Gerard," she murmured, trying to shake out from between Jet Star's grip and let the slumber take her. It was all just a dream; all she had to do was fall back asleep so she could wake up and find herself drooling over the gutted-out control panel.

"Who is this _Gerard _she speaks of?" Another Killjoy—Destructive Melody, as resident nurse— piped up, her arms crossed, off in the corner of the infirmary with a worried look on her face. "Is it that Party Poison character Kobra is talking too?" Jet shook his head.

"That's what Kobra called him—must be him," he said as she began to re-open her eyes.

"Outside," she said to specify as she lied her head back down on the pillow. Her head spun in too many dizzying circles. Everyone in the room turned to look at the door as it creaked open, Kobra and Party filing in with their hands in their pockets, heads bowed. Oh, you could tell that Michael and Gerard Way were blood bothers. It was obvious.

At first thought, they both just stood frozen when Cellophane collapsed in front of them; they were way more stunned with each other to react to Lindsey passing out. But in a snap, they finally tuned back to reality and panicked.

Party was the one that carried her down the well-lit corridors, Grace trailing behind, a worried expression tinting her face. "Is she gonna be alright?"

Jet Star turned to answer his daughter's question. He kept his tone leveled, revealing nothing of the chaos that was raving inside him. He continued to be a few steps ahead of everyone. "I believe so. She hasn't eaten all day; we've been stuck in the workshop all day without a break." He lied. He might be 99% oblivious to the facts he had yet to figure out, but that 1% told him that Cellophane collapsed because of the red-head, not because of the lack of energy in her blood.

Jet's words hit Gerard hard, jealously suddenly thickening his heart. He pushed it back and wore his protective mask of nothing on his face.

They continued to zig and zag left and right down the corridor of the underground society. It reminded Party of the intricate halls in spaceships he saw in the movies when he was a boy and would marvel at them, fantasizing about how awesome it would be to own something similar to that. And here he was, but he had no chance to marvel or _ohhh_ and _ahhh _at anything.

He looked down at pale Lindsey. His eyes watered. So long; it had been so damn long since he had seen his wife. His grip around her tightened and he suppressed the urge to run his fingertips across her wet cheek. Biting back everything inside him that had shifted, he just focused on Jet's endless babble. Then his shoulder was touched and his world tumbled out of place as he gazed back to meet with Kobra's reflective green eyes.

"How the hell did you survive what happened a few days ago? This is the millionth time you weasel yourself out of death's tight grip." His tone was hushed; apparently low enough that not even Owl-eared Jet caught wind of it. Before answering, he looked down at Cell and opened his mouth, just to be cut off by Jet Star. They turned into one of the many twin doors along the wall, a small sign on the side signaling that this room was the "Infirmary."

"Here. You can place her on one of the beds and wait outside. You, too, Kobra," he added, his tone not as even as he might have wanted it to be. Not a word exchanged, they left with their head bowed. The door closed behind them and Mikey wrapped his arms around his brother and clung onto him tightly. It took Gerard a few second to react but he finally did. People passed them and eyed them oddly.

Secret lovers, perhaps? they would murmured to one another if they traveled in pairs, trios, ect .

"I can't believe you're standing right in front of me, in one piece," Kobra let go and wiped his moisten cheek with the back of his gloved hand. Party was also a bit wet around the eyes. He chuckled as he mimicked.

"I can't believe you guys are here, so well-taken care of. Is this were you've been all along?" Kobra nodded. "Jet's a saint. He found us and took us under his wing. He's got something good going here. BLI thinks we're rotting somewhere out in the desert. That's what keeps us alive and running. Even though it was risky, I wrote to you." He looked down at his scuffed-up black boots. "I had to let you know that we were okay."

"How has Linds held up?" This question puzzled Kobra Kid.

"What do you mean?"

"Bandit, Mi—Kob—what the hell do I call you?"

"Kobra is fine. What about Bandit?"

"Her passing, Kobra." He placed his hand on his shoulder in a way to support himself up. Kobra's eyes went wide.

"Gerard, she's not dead. She's in her room right now." Now Party was the one that looked like he was going to pass out.

"What? But you never mentioned her; I found a little girl's body with Bandit's red nail polish on her fingers at the caves the day the raid occurred. Her face was too messed up to identify," he said, pressing his thumb and index fingers into his closed lids, pushing away the image of the poor child's mangled face. "She had her brown hair, it was her, Kid. I know it." He was losing every grip of sanity he had left.

"We said in the letter I sent you that we were okay. I couldn't give you specifics—names, locations, how many of us—any of that stuff. I assumed you knew Bandit was one of the surviving people that got out with us. It was only four of us that got out alive."

"She's alive." He felt his knees buck, so he held on tighter to Kobra. "Sweet mother of Jesus Christ." He was going into hysterics. "She's alive, my baby girl is alive—my sweet, little Bandi." He usually never lost it like this but now, a poker face wasn't going to help him any; it was all pouring out anyways.

"I'm sorry that all this time you assumed that that little girl you found was Bandit. But yeah, she's here on the base. I don't know how things would go with Cellophane but I know that Bandit will be happy to get the Daddy she lost three years ago back." He heard noise behind the door and took it as a chance to head inside with Cell—his worry for her finally resurfacing. Party followed; the same stance as they marched in—hands in pockets, heads bowed. Everyone looked their way as they closed the door behind them. Cell was still lying on the infirmary bed, white as snow.

"Is she any better?" The question itself was pretty redundant but he asked anyways.

"Who the hell are you to ask?" Jet's anger bubbled over without explanation. Why was he so angry at this guy? Because Cellophane mattered in his life, he reasoned internally. "What is she to you?"

"Jet," Kobra said, "This is my brother; Cell is his wife and Bandit is his daughter." Fury fell and disbelief set in. From behind the crowd of people, Cell sat up, her arm limply falling away from her face. "Gerard?" she murmured once again, looking straight at Poison. She was still too pale to be conscious.

"I think everyone should leave; these two and I have a lot to talk about," she said, suddenly the queasiness replaced by numbness; the feeling of frailness evaporated.

"But, Cell," Jet tried to reason, "Do you feel well enough? You were just out for a good fifteen—" She pushed her palm into him, signaling him to stop. She turned to show him that she was seriously okay. "I need to get this out of the way. What happened just a few minutes ago was a weakness of being human and I'm gonna fix that. Now please, I need some privacy with these boys." Her voice sent chills up his spine. It was too cold, too rigid to be coming from the mouth of the nurturing mother and wife she once was. _Once was_, Party reassured himself. Things where different now.

Her icy voice and void eyes were now directed towards the Brothers Way that hung back, avoiding her all together. Party gulped the watermelon-sized lump in his throat and exchanged looks with Kobra as everyone left the room in a single-file line. Jet reluctantly parted from her, eyeing Party like a three-headed snake. Fun had to leave with him, as ordered by Cellophane. There was a pained look on his face as he followed the bunch on their way out.

"You know exactly where to find me, Kobra," he said just loud enough for the person beside him to hear, "If anything gets out of hand. I trust you with her life." He looked Party once over again and stepped out, his boots a slow drone as they made their way down the hall and disappeared.

Cellophane pointed to the bed next to her as she swung her legs over the bed's edge. "Shall we?"


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I own nothing, affiliate with My Chemical Romance or anyone that works, ever worked or is involved with Gerard, Mikey, Ray, or Frank. The order in which I wrote the words pertains to me and only me. If I had the chance to chill with these guys is Desolate Cali 2019, I wouldn't be writing about it; I would instead, totally rock it like Grace Jeanette and be their fifth Killjoy ;) This is my first story here, and I see that there isn't any MCR fics, thought I would be cool to be the unofficial first :) (maybe there are other out there; that would be super sweet.)

Comment. Criticize. Love.

Update: I'm so sorrryyyyy guys XP. I told myself that I was gonna try my hardest not to fall behind and not update. It's been well over a month and I should make time for you guys :3. Here is chapter five, which all it needed was to be spell-checked. I believe I need a beta for this story- any takers? Private message me if you are interested and...we'll talk ;P

Thank you guys for still sticking around for this story and I will do everything in my power not to fall behind. It's my pet peeve when I wanna read a good-butt Fanfic and the author hasn't updated in months -.-' Lots of love from me to everyone that is about to devour this.

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><p>And there she was. This time, he didn't feel hurried into anything. He just gazed at her and re-memorized every line on her face, every imperfection. Her eyes are brown? Of course they are—a mesmerizing chocolate brown, to be exact. And he continued like this until Cellophane realized it and cleared her throat to break his hypnotic trance.<p>

"If Mikey is telling the truth—you don't mind if we stay on a first name basis?" Mikey shook his head—"Alright then, if Mikey is saying the truth, you are who he says you are—Gerard." The cold way she said his name added to the layer of ice that was growing thicker and thicker in his chest. "Gerard Arthur Way." She pushed herself off the flimsy thin mattress and expected them to do the same. They both met her in the middle.

Instantly, the ice cracked and she wrapped her arms around him, her head lying on his shoulder as a small, almost inaudible whimpers escaped her throat. She felt the warmth of the tears trickle slowly down her cheek, wetting Party's windbreaker. He held her tightly to him, inhaling her and letting his own bottled-up tears go. He stroked her hair and repeated her name over and over.

"I cried when we had to leave without you," she hiccupped, "Ask Mikey. Nothing could console me. I had lost the love of my life"—she pressed him closer to her—"and nobody could replace him." She pulled slightly away to give way to see Mikey. Her make-up was running but it didn't seem to matter to her. Mentioning that she almost married another could be mentioned some other time.

"I don't know what would have become of me if I didn't have Bandit and Mikey around. I would have gone crazy. I kinda did without you." She closed the gap between them.

"Don't leave, ever. Please, don't leave me all alone. Being under this new establishment sucks enough—being without you for three years has been worse than anything those mother-effin' S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/Ws have thrown our way."

"As much as I can avoid it, baby, I'll never leave." Her broken sobs became louder. She finally had him back; Gerard, the only person that was missing from her life.

Pealing herself way from his soaked garments, she reoccupied her seat, sitting across from them, as they took their seats too. Looking at the floor as she wiped away her tears, she smiled under the curtain of her twilight hair that covered her. "I thought you were dead," she said, bluntly, not yet reaching his eyes.

"I don't see how you made it when everyone around you was dropping like flies. You're one lucky SOB," Mikey said.

"You guys don't know what a hell of three years I've lived. I was alone half the time, I couldn't find anyone I could trust—that was until I found Fun Ghoul a few nights ago. Poor guy, been through hell and back—and all he ever wanted was a warm place to live, stability, and a bit a food now and then." Party was surprised with himself; he usually never expressed himself about someone he just met this way, but Frank had awoken something inside his heart that had been rotting away slowly. That part was finally gain its strength and breathing fresh oxygen. That part being his warmth and empathy.

Slowly, Lindsey's and Mikey's were too.

"He'll be well taken care of here," she said, reaching out and sympathetically patting Party's knee.

"Can I see Bandit, Lins?" he blurred out. He couldn't take it anymore; he had to see his baby girl.

"Of course, um Kobra, could you bring her here?" He nodded and left the wing, leaving them alone.

"I seriously did not recognize you, darling," she said, taking Kobra's empty seat as her own, slipping her arm around his. "This hair—what possessed you to do this to yourself—again?"

"Two reasons—one-the Draculiods wouldn't recognize me and two-it's a cool color."

"You're surly going to give Bandit ideas," she laughed as she ran her hands through his hair.

"Hope so. Maybe she could get it a purple. She likes purple, right?" he questioned, his cheeks tinting with embarrassment. "God, I missed her, and you." He scooted closer to her, feeling her warmth once again. There was no use in telling her about where he thought Bandit was all this time.

Suddenly, the door opened and was followed by a much taller Bandit than he pictured, Uncle Kobra not to far behind. Her eyes were a mixture of his honey ones and her brown ones and wore glasses over them; she had her mother's smile and her father's features and expressions, her eyes as wide as saucers as she saw the familiar stranger for the first time in what felt like forever.

She gawked at him as Kobra scooted her forward, her long lanky legs just reacting to the pushing. "Mom?" she questioned as she got as close as she let Kobra push her.

She looked nervously between Daughter and Father. "Bandit, this is—"

"Dad?" she asked as she took one step close. "Is that really you?" He couldn't stop his eyes from overflowing once again with tears.

"Yes, Bandit," he whispered, seeing as his voice was so overwrought with emotions, he couldn't say it any louder. "I can't believe you remember me."

"How could I forget you?" she asked, her voice mimicking his own tone. She was not crying, but having the dad she cried herself to sleep over in a period of three years in front of her was stunning enough to scare her tear-ducts barren. She turned to Cellophane now. "Mom, is this really him? I though you said he was gone forever." It was pretty hard to keep a dry eye in this situation.

"I was wrong," she said as she wiped her tears away. "But yes, baby, this is the daddy that we both lost three years ago." Without another word, Party stood to his feet to get closer to frozen Bandit. The second he leveled himself with her, she collapsed into his arms and began to cry. "It is. I don't care if anyone says that you're an imposter sent in to kill us. I know this is you, Daddy." He laughed at her comment and hugged her tighter. And the family Way was finally together.

Leave it to Jet to break up the moment, signaling Kobra 's walkie-talkie. "Kobra? Come in Kobra Kid. This is Jet Star coming in from base. Do you copy?" Kobra knew that he had done this just to break anything up. Forcefully, he clicked it out of its pouch and talked into it.

"This is Kobra Kid, copy in. What is it that you need, Jet? Over."

"I want you to bring the new-comer down to the base room. We have Fun Ghoul here and they need a tour of the place if they're planning on staying." Which didn't really please Jet by the sound of his voice.

"Cell," Kobra said, reverting back to protocol name-calling, "Do you feel well enough?" She nodded, getting up and feeling a little dizzy as she stood. They all moved forward to catch her if she fell, but she managed to regain her footing. "I'm fine."

"Mom, what's wrong? Why is she here in the first place?" Bandit threw her questions at her uncle and mother.

"Um, your mother here forgot that she needs food to keep going. She skipped a couple of meals, which landed her here, fainted," Kobra lied. Gratefulness flashed in both his brother and sister-in-law's eyes.

Bandit gasped, slapping her hands over her mouth. "Mom! How could you? You said that you were going to take better care of yourself!" She hadn't lost her spunk, that was for sure.

"How about you and Bandit head off to the cafeteria and I'll take Party over to see what kind of 'tour' Jet has for Fun and Party. Just signal my walkie-talkie when you're done." Just then, Jet pressed the signal button again, making that awful screeching sound on their side. He sighed, "I'm still on the line, Jet. I'll take Party Poison over to you so we can give them both a tour of the facilities. Electric (Bandit) and Cellophane are headed over to the cafeteria to get some meat on their bones, Cell needing it the most," he caught her shooting red-hot daggers at him as he smiled. "Over." There was a slight pause. Everyone held their breaths.

"Does she feel well enough to go on her own? Does she want Mordecai and Edwind to accompany her, just in case she needs it?" Foreshadowing the fact that she might be human again and faint. This just pissed her off even more, snatching the machine away from him and giving Jet a bit of a talking too.

"Yes, Daddy—I am fine. I don't need your stupid body-guards watching over me. Over."

"Well, well, well," Jet chuckled. "I hear you loud and clear. Alright then, Kobra, bring Party Poison over here and we'll go from there. Over and out."

"Copy that." Kobra responded. "Shall we?"

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><p>This place was massive. Party thoughtfully studied the layers that they had created in the apartments in the last five years. It was like any other community of people living together, in some-sort of forced harmony, but he knew that it wasn't always this peaceful; he would ask Lindsey about the type of fights that had occurred around this place. As Jet trailed on, Fun and Party just barely caught his words, their attentions at their surroundings.<p>

"And as a procedure and precaution, it is best that we all remain on calling each other by our assigned Killjoy names. Using real birth names could put us in high risk of getting caught and killed. I know that you have a daughter, wife and, brother to attend to, Party, so I assume you will abstain from calling them by their names and start using their pointed names." Why was he only pointing him out? He understood that he had blood relatives on the base, but it wasn't like others didn't accidentally called someone's real name out. His blood boiled at the thought that this bastard got it in for him and was going have it in for him till the day he died. So all he did was nod and clench his fists. Fun noticed this and shot him a sympathetic look, which Party appreciated. He finally let the subject die and continued on the tour as he explained where the greenhouse was, and the cafeteria; how the rooms had their own kitchens, bathrooms and baths. He explained to both of them that some were like apartments and accommodated families. He also mentioned jobs that had been created and that as soon as they were settled, they would receive their own.

"The room that was appointed to Cellophane had four rooms; I believe that you will be sleeping in the same room as her, correct?" Party nodded, feeling his whole body flush hot. He hadn't thought about that part of staying here and finally finding his family. Jet nodded back in acknowledgment, and continued, "Then if you don't mind, Fun Ghoul can take the extra room, seeing as Kobra and Electric have their own as well."

"I don't think Cellophane will mind," Party responded, remembering the times when his friends from work would get into fights with their wives and would come to Gerard and Lindsey for some hospitality. Lindsey would always remind him that just as long as they had to provide and a bit extra, she would never say no to a needy hand. Her heart was so big, it made Gerard feel completely enthralled by her capacity of loving. The emotion curled a bit seeing that void of emotion in her eyes earlier; this had broken her spirit to the degree that she was about to lose her soul. Hopefully, his return would change at least a bit of that.

"How could you speak for her when you have not talked to one another in over three years?" Jet responded. "Do not put words in her mouth." All the happy-go-lucky feelings stirring inside Party evaporated, leaving nothing but fuming rage.

"How dare you question what I know about my own wife, asshole?" He was getting awfully close to him, sizing Jet up. He was a bit taller than Party, But Party had taken out Draculoids taller than him.

"Party, calm down, don't listen to him," Fun said as he reached out to try and stop anything before it started; Kobra did the same, but from the other side of Party.

"It's been years, how do you know she still loves you?" That was a slap in the face and a punch in the stomach, but he didn't show that he was in any sort of pain by his words.

"That's none of your concern, is it, Buddy? She is legally my wife and if she wants to get a divorce, fine, let it be that way. I will not put up a fight because there are other, way more important things than that at this moment." Jet did not back down—instead, he pushed at Party's body, both their testosterone levels sky-rocketing.

"Kobra, this is Cell. We're done eating—where do we meet you? Over." He almost sighed out loud before plucking his walkie-talkie from his belt to reply. "In the communal living quarters. Over." Both men backed down, docile after hearing Cell's voice. They equally looked at Kobra Kid's walkie-talkie and stared.

"Well, she's on her way. We can settle this idiot matter when she gets here," huffed Jet triumphantly, as if he had the upper hand with her and she would certainly say what he wanted to hear.

A few minutes later, the slow drone of her heels making contact with the floor signaled her getting closer, all of the boys' ears standing like that of a border collie's hearing the scurry of a mouse. She soon come into view, Bandit trailing beside her, the same serene look on her face that Cell bore. She could feel the tension of the men as she got closer, smiling at them, trying to make the air more breathable.

"Did you see the whole compound?" she said when she was within hearing-range. Party and Fun nodded robotically, Fun having an uncomfortable look on his face. Distress, it looked like.

"Why are you guys so quiet?" Bandit said, finally making the elephant in the hall known. They all looked at one another—Mordecai and Edwin exchanging glaces as well—and looked right back at the two females in front of them. Cell kind of had a feeling that Jet didn't like Party very much, but she didn't know to what extent; she was about to find out.

"Honey," Jet said saccharinly to Bandit, "Can you run along and play with Grace? She must be in her room, showering and getting a fresh pair of clothes on her." Her face fell but obeyed. Cell said nothing but watched her daughter go, a confused look on her face.

"Why couldn't she be here to hear what happened?"

"Do you really want our daughter to see the bloody mess that will result of this?" Party said, crossing his arms over his chest and looking angrily over at Jet.

"What?" she exclaimed.

"They almost got into a fight, ma'am," pipped up Mordecai, his low, husky Russian accent booming, even as he spoke quietly.

"Why the hell would you do that?" she questioned both of them.

"Your husband here said that it does not matter if you divorce him or not. Said there are more important things to worry about."

"Don't twist my words around!" Party turned to him and didn't hesitate a second as he pushed Jet harder this time. "I never said that, Lindsey! This asshole said that you probably don't love anymore and that I should not be speaking in your behalf." Jet regained his footing, thanks to his body guards catching him before he fell.

"Hold it!" she was getting frustrated, "Tell me how this all got out of hand—from the beginning." Fun launched himself into the story before anyone else tried to take his place. He explained every detail unbiasedly and finished with a, "and if it wasn't for you paging Kobra to ask where we were, I believe they would have beaten each other to a bloody pulp."

Cell's head was between her hands, rubbing her temples around in circular motion. "First of all—yes, I am okay with Fun Ghoul taking the extra room that is in our apartment and no, I will not divorce Party. Even if it was true about me not loving him, we have a child together, and now that he is back, I'd try and make the best of what we had, even as married friends. But that's not the case, Jet. You know very well that I would cry myself to sleep almost every night because I missed him so much." Jet's heart dropped and Party's shoot straight for his throat. "I do love him," she took a deep breath, steadying herself. "Are we done here, so we can get these guys something to eat and so they could bathe?"

"Yes, Cellophane, we are done here." Without another word, he walked away, Mordecai and Edwin following. She let out a sigh, exasperated at his childish ways. He knew that there was no way she could have ever married him. At first it had started as a way out of the pain, but she couldn't get Gerard out of her head. The torch she carried for him was seriously starting to cause some up-roar. She couldn't give her heart to someone else when she didn't even own it anymore. Dead or alive, Gerard still owned it, and that was the reason they officially broke off the engagement but six months prior to this day. He had been a good sport about it, but he had told her he loved her and would love Bandit as his own.

For the longest time, she couldn't look at him in the eyes without feeling the slightest bit guilty. Grace and Bandit were the ones that smoothed the problem over, making it possible to talk to one another like friends again. She had a feeling that he had harbored some resentment towards her, but not nothing to massive to maim any progress they had made. He had been able to keep it under wraps, but now, it had blown over with the arrival Party Poison aka Gerard Arthur Way. His blood seethed and boiled at the sight of Party being back with Cell. So he walked away before slitting the motherfucker's throat in front of Cellophane; that would certainly make his lose brownie points with her.

* * *

><p>How in the world could they call this massive, roomy apartment a simple dorm? It was a mansion compared to the place he had been living in for the past three years. It had a huge living area that was impeccable—surely Cell's doing—smelling of clean and freshness, making him feel out of place with his raggedy clothes and in need of a shower.<p>

Sofas the color of smooth chocolate, two lazy boys covered in beige leather on either side of the sofa and a centered glass table with a pot of fake white and orangr orchids sat in the middle. Party was ushered into his shared room by his roommate, while Kobra showed Fun his room and took him to get him a fresh set of clothes, mentioning picking up a pair for Party. Just then, the heaviness of what had just happened a few minutes ago slapped him back to earth. Lindsey closed the door behind her and joined him on the California king sized mattress. "I bet there is a lot that you'd want to ask me about just now," she whispered quietly and the heaviness of his stomach returned.

"You were going to marry Jet Star?" That part he still couldn't wrap his mind around . She looked down at her hands and fidgeted with them.

"It was a period of time where I just felt like Bandit deserved a man in her life, since we had lost you. I was vulnerable and he knew that your loss was recent, so he pushed for nothing. Without a promise, and just his love professed to me, he went on a raid and it went awry...that's when they brought him back without an eye; they caught him and tortured him," she choked back the tears in her throat and continued, "they caught Mikey too, but they didn't do much to him," she reassured once the pained look on his face appeared. "And I couldn't let Jet die without getting the one thing he ever wanted—a mother for Grace. I prayed—if anything—that they would come back with life.

"So when they were able to escape, I promised to marry him. This all happened so fast—we were to elope a week after he got released from the infirmary." He searched her fingers hungrily, his heart racing. It slowed down at the bleak site of her left ring finger. She noticed and continued the story before he got the wrong idea. "I got iceberg feet and jilted the day of the wedding. There aren't many places to hide here, but luckily, another situation with BLI occurred that took the attention off of me."

"What happened after that?" he interjected coldly. Her eyebrows knit together and she just sighed. _Let him be mad_, she said to herself, _this is just the way he coped_.

"Mikey was the first to talk to me, and by that point, I had been harboring so much grief that when he asked me what was wrong, I broke down and told him I couldn't marry Jet." Just the very thought of that sad conversation made her throat close up. "I still loved you, even if I didn't know if you were dead or alive." She scooted closer to him, placing her hand over his scratchy chin. He took it off and held it down by their touching knees."Of course, Jet was not happy but he accepted my apology and moved on. We haven't talked about anything in much detail, but I think he thought that if he gave me some more time to heal, there was a possibility I would end up being with him. You arriving here alive was never in the cards. I want to apologize for everything that has happened in the few hours that you've been here. It's my entire fault for leading him on and expecting him to be okay with your return."

"I'm not exactly thrilled about the history you two have, but I am a reasonable man. I understand that you were thinking about the welfare of our daughter, once the possibility of me coming back was growing slimmer." He reached out and pulled her forehead to his lips. Damn, he would never get sick of that. She held on to his wrists as she collapsed into his chest.

"I won't hold anything against you because you technically did nothing wrong—unless you slept with him." She retracted from his chest, her eyes wide as saucers. Feverishly, she shook her head.

"No! Oh gosh, no. How could I think about sex when I was mourning you?" Relaxing, she fell back into his arms and quietly felt his warmth against her. "I'm sorry," she murmured once again, this time muffled by his chest. He ran his hands through her hair soothingly.

"There's nothing to be sorry about."

"Gerard?"

"You can't call me that. Sergeant Stars over there gave me a good whopping for using your first name. He said it a breach in security. I refuse to get another verbal beating from him." He smiled.

"Oh, Jet could stuff it." She parted from his chest, "I'll call you whatever the hell I want."

"Alright, Lindsey." He smiled, her name on his tongue smooth and welcomed. She smirked.

"Gerard?"

"Hmmm?"

"You stink. Go shower."


End file.
